A Change of Plans
by CornGold
Summary: The Master tries to take over a planet, the Doctor tries to stop him--they find something better to do instead. Slash, PWP, though with no explicit sex; Five/Ainley!Master.
1. Chapter 1

This tried to be PWP, but got a bit carried away, and ended up with _chapters_...

The world belongs to its various writers, the programme belongs to the BBC, the characters belong to their respective actors, I own nothing, I make no profit, blah blah blah.

* * *

The Master was so wrapped up in his work he hadn't noticed he was no longer alone.

"What are you up to this time?" The Doctor's voice was weary.

The Master whirled and, hiding surprise and annoyance, smirked. "My dear Doctor, what an unexpected pleasure. You're just in time." He turned back to the machine before him, feigning disinterest in his fellow Time Lord.

"What for?"

He heard the rustle of cloth as the Doctor pushed aside his coat to thrust his hands into his pockets. Footsteps crossed the floor, drawing nearer. The Master tensed, ready to defend, to threaten, to attack, but otherwise ignored him. "My plans are about to come to fruition," he answered easily. He felt the Doctor lean over his shoulder, and reached for his TCE before remembering he'd left it in his TARDIS. He cursed silently. He'd allowed himself to become far too complacent over the past week, and that complacency had led to carelessness.

"Radio signal?" the Doctor asked, sounding uncertain.

When he reached a hand forward to fiddle with one of the dials, the Master opted for physical threat: he grabbed the Doctor's wrist, stepped back and shoved him against a nearby filing cabinet, twisting his arm up behind him. "Umph," the Doctor said, squirming; then, after catching his breath, "Isn't radio a bit primitive for you, though?"

"One works with the technologies available. And primitive as they are, I would rather you refrained from interfering with them. They can be temperamental."

"Oh, I hope so, after all, I'm here to stop you—ouch!" he yelped as the Master twisted his arm further.

"You always are." The Master smiled wryly. "You do choose the most absurd times to deliver your warnings, though." He pressed the heel of his free hand between the Doctor's shoulder blades until the Doctor winced, to illustrate his point.

"You can't hold me here forever," the Doctor argued, in this regeneration's rather patronising Voice Of Reason. "You cannot complete whatever dastardly scheme you've come up with, while keeping me like this. And when you let me go, I'll stop you."

"I shall have to find some other way to incapacitate you, then. Let's try your pockets." He removed his hand from the Doctor's back and the Doctor pushed suddenly, violently away from the cabinet, in an obvious attempt to knock the Master off him. He would have succeeded but for the Master's grip on his wrist, which he was unable to break. The Master caught his balance and, growling, twisted the wrist viciously. The Doctor cried out in real pain and froze, and the Master shoved him back against the cabinet and stepped in to pin him there. Several inches shorter though the Master was, there wasn't a great deal the Doctor could do to fight back.

He began rummaging through the Doctor's coat pockets, sorting out their contents by feel. The Doctor stood still, silent but for his rapid breathing, the fingers of his free hand clutching the top of the filing cabinet so hard the knuckles were white. The Master, chest pressed as it was against the Doctor's back, fancied he could feel the Doctor's hearts beating.

"A pencil, an elastic—why on earth do you have an elastic? Even during your longer-haired regenerations, you never wore your hair up—your hat, a coin, a...lemon?" He pulled it out and stared at it disbelievingly, then tossed it over his shoulder. It bounced across the floor to roll into a dusty corner somewhere, and the Doctor made a noise of protest, but didn't so much as twitch. "Deck of cards, a candle stub, a safety pin—honestly, Doctor, do you ever clean out your pockets?" He transferred the Doctor's wrist to his left hand, the Doctor whimpering as he inadvertently twisted it further. The Master's hearts beat more quickly at the sound, and he pressed closer. The Doctor's teeth clenched, his breathing ragged. "This feels like a newspaper," the Master murmured, starting on the other pocket. "And this?" He pulled it out. "A Starfleet commbadge, Doctor? Not the kind of thing that usually falls into one's pockets; they're much too careful with them. Have you been thieving?" There was no answer, but he hadn't really expected one. "Ah, your sonic. If I may?" He pocketed it, and the Doctor sighed the sigh of the infinitely patient and put-upon. The Master simply smirked. However collected the Doctor wished to appear, he knew better: he could feel the Doctor's pulse racing beneath his fingers. "A pebble, a leaf, a cricket ball—a yoyo?" He pulled it out and considered it. "Well, it'll do. Other hand, please." The Doctor shifted carefully and released the filing cabinet, moving his hand backwards until it touched the Master's side. The Master twitched, pressing harder against the Doctor, and the Doctor sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Awkwardly, the Master wound the yoyo string around the Doctor's left hand several times before pulling it up to tie both hands together. It looked ridiculous, really, but he didn't particularly care as long as it bought him a few more minutes. "There," he said, "that'll do," and the Doctor let out a fervent breath of relief as the Master stepped back and dropped his hands.

The Master went back to his machine and the Doctor stepped away from the cabinet, flexing his wrists carefully, his flushed skin and deep breaths rather telling. The Master himself was feeling quite warm under all his velvet; if he hadn't been in the crucial stages of taking over a planet, he'd have happily put off his project and pursued this young, blond regeneration's rather interesting response to being manhandled. The previous one, certainly, would not have reacted like this.

He glanced over at the other Time Lord, who was leaning against the cabinet he'd recently been pinned to. His face was still flushed, but the Master could tell he was already at work on freeing his hands, while his gaze swept over the Master and his machine, obviously trying to work it all out. His eyes widened, and the Master smirked. It was always satisfying to have an appreciative audience.

"No!" the Doctor cried. "No, that's—that's—well, that's quite clever, really," he murmured. "But completely unethical!" The Master got the feeling that, if he could have, the Doctor would have shaken a finger at him.

"And since when have you known me to be bound by such trivial details as ethics?"

The Doctor took another deep breath; this time it sounded more like the preface to some long and stuffy speech than an attempt to control his body. He didn't disappoint. "This is a complete misuse of all the powers of our race—"

"Oh, spare me that drivel, Doctor." The Master frowned at a slight hiccup in the system, and when he leaned down to peer at the readings on one of the monitors, the Doctor leapt at him, bound hands and all. The Master saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, but was unable to move quickly enough to avoid him. They went crashing to the floor in a tangled heap, and the Master's head knocked against the leg of a table.

He shoved his way up through the resulting blackness towards the sound of an alarm. When he was finally able to open his eyes there was nothing, for a moment, but flashing and pulsing lights. He bit back a groan and raised a hand to the back of his head. No blood, but it hurt. He blinked and attempted to focus, and gradually the lights began to dim, although they continued to flash.

The Doctor had managed to release his hands, although the yoyo was still wrapped absurdly around his left wrist, and he was dashing about like a mad thing, punching buttons and fiddling with dials and reading off numbers to himself as he attempted to shut down the machine. The alarms and flashing lights apparently meant he wasn't doing as clean a job of it as he might.

The Master rolled over to his hands and knees, but as the pain in his head blazed and all the lights went very bright again, he didn't attempt to stand. He crawled to his TARDIS—disguised as the filing cabinet he'd been pinning the Doctor to—and managed to get it open and himself into it before the Doctor noticed him.

"No!" he heard his adversary yell before the door closed, blocking out the noise. The Master locked the door behind him and made his way to the consol, setting in coordinates for one of the two other identical machines he'd stationed around the planet as backup. It would take some time to get them going, but he should be able to manage it: the Doctor had still to bring this one offline, figure out the game wasn't over yet, and then track him down yet again. He chuckled, and his head throbbed in retaliation.

Even if he didn't get the planet, he realized, heading for the TARDIS infirmary, he wouldn't especially mind. Now that the Doctor was on to him, his aims had changed a bit.

After all, he thought, if the Doctor was going to insist on stumbling into the Master's plans...well. He'd just have to include him in them.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, the usual disclaimer stands: sadly, I own nothing.

* * *

"Ah, there you are, Doctor. I was beginning to wonder."

"One might almost think you wanted to be found."

The Master spared the Doctor an ironic smile. "Of course. After finding you following me so closely, how could I fail to send an invitation for the second round?"

"This isn't a game, Master, these are people's _lives_."

"Well, I've always been of the opinion that people's lives should be used well." He smirked. "And I have plenty of ideas on that score, never fear." He looked up to see the Doctor roll his eyes.

"You just never stop, do you? What is it you want this time? You yourself admitted this planet is a bit primitive for your taste, so why are you trying to conquer it, hmm? Simply to get my attention?"

"You overrate your importance, Doctor," the Master replied smoothly. It was a an utter lie, but that didn't particularly bother him. "This planet is ideally situated for further galactic conquest."

The Doctor muttered something that sounded like, "oh, for goodness's sake," and glanced around the room, no doubt keeping a lookout for the Master's TARDIS. The Master watched him over the second of his machines.

They'd both learned to be a bit more wary of the other in their short interlude. Before starting up this one, the Master had been sure to arrange his workspace so that he'd be facing the only entrance. A stupid mistake to overlook that the first time through, but then, he'd not been expecting company.

Finally the Doctor's eyes came to rest on him. "You still have my sonic screwdriver."

"So I have. You forgot to remove it from my person after you knocked me over the head."

"That was no fault of mine." The Doctor actually did shake a finger at the Master this time, briefly, before shoving his hands back into his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. "That was an unexpected bonus, really."

The Master snorted. "I'm sure." He went back to the machine.

There was a slight pause.

"Well, might I have it back, please?"

The Master snorted again. When he glanced up again, the Doctor was scanning the bright red wiring that led from the machine in the centre of the room, drifted up to hang from the rafters, and plugged into the wall to the Master's left. The Master would have been wary of something that obvious—really, all it lacked was a sign saying TRY ME FIRST—but the Doctor took a small step toward it, obviously not expecting a trap. Gullible, that's what he was. The Master shook his head.

"It'll do you no good to sabotage this one, you know," he told him, quite truthfully this time. "You should know me well enough to guess I have a backup plan."

"What, isn't this it?" the Doctor asked. The Master just smirked at the jab, and the Doctor smiled faintly back. "This wasn't the first lab I found, you know, after I disarmed your original device and set out to track you down."

The Master's smirk turned wry. "Ah, that's why you took so long."

"Quite."

"Never mind, my dear Doctor. After all, I still have this one."

"Not for long."

The Doctor leapt for the plugging, and the Master calmly pressed another button. The Doctor was jerked to a halt as a yellowish forcefield beamed out on either side of him, catching his wrists and ankles and holding him in place.

The Master strolled over to him. The Doctor was glaring. The yellow light lit up his face and hair rather beautifully, and the Master took a moment to admire the effect.

"You were right, you know, about this planet. It is a little primitive for my tastes. I took the extra time you gave me, hunting down and destroying my third laboratory, to contrive this." He nodded toward the light surrounding the Doctor. "I'm afraid it takes all the machine's electricity to power it." He stepped into the Doctor's space, smiling when the Doctor tried to pull away and was unable to. "I do believe, however, that you are a more worthy prize than this pathetic planet. Aren't I lucky, then, that you walked so willingly into my trap?"

"If this is drawing energy from the machine, it can't last forever."

"I don't need it to. All I want is to talk."

"Talk? What about?"

"About what you'll do when these bonds are released."

"I assume you have plans on that score?"

"Of course, but they do depend on you. Will you be agreeable, Doctor?" The Doctor's scowl deepened. "Or shall I fetch my TCE? After I finish with you, I'll be able to revert all this power back to my machine and carry on." He waved a careless hand in the machine's general direction.

"No, no, I'm listening, aren't I?"

The Master chuckled. "So eager to save your skin?"

The Doctor's scowl lost all traces of annoyance as his chin went down and his eyebrows up, in his Very Serious expression. "You know that's not the case. My only demand is that you leave these people alone."

"Very well." The Master strolled back to the controls and switched the power off completely. The Doctor's hands dropped to his sides. He looked surprised at the Master's sudden agreeable streak, despite the Master's explanation. "Come along then." He led the Doctor to his TARDIS, this time disguised as a circuit breaker box, and pulled the door open. "After you."

"What, can't we talk here?"

"My TARDIS is much more comfortable. Do you distrust my hospitality so?"

The Doctor snorted but squared his shoulders and strode in without another word. The Master followed and shut the door behind him, not bothering to hide his smirk. The Doctor had paused halfway across the room; the Master went to the consol and dematerialized the TARDIS, then turned to look his guest over.

"Well, Doctor."

It was an attractive regeneration, this one. As always he was taller than the Master, and his eyes were set a little too deeply and close together in his face for perfection, but they didn't detract from his general good looks: fair-haired, slim, and boyishly handsome. And underneath the lovely exterior was the Doctor, his Doctor, who was beginning to look a little unnerved by the obvious scrutiny. The silence stretched between them.

"Well?" the Doctor echoed finally. The Master smiled and stepped forward; the Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Well, you've interrupted my latest scheme, and I'd say I gave in quite graciously." The Master stopped only a foot or two away from the other Time Lord. "Do I get some kind of compensation, for my generosity, from you?"

The Doctor's head reared back like a startled horse. "Compensation?" He sounded outraged. "For agreeing not to take over the Universe?" The Master simply raised an eyebrow, and the Doctor raised a hand to brush his hair out of his face, switching from indignation to disbelief. "What would you like? A cookie? A sticker?"

The Master wrapped his fingers in the Doctor's camel-coloured coat and marched him back into the wall. The Doctor's breath left his body in an undignified "oof!" and his eyes went very wide as the Master stretched up and hissed into his face, "No, I'd rather have you," and kissed him, hard.

"Mmph!" said the Doctor. He sounded quite surprised—apparently he hadn't seen it coming. The Master chuckled against his lips, and the Doctor's hands rose to push at the Master's shoulders, but it seemed he was too shocked to do anything effective. The Master caught his wrists and pinned his hands against the wall, and broke the kiss long enough to murmur, "Doctor," before going in again for a second.

"Master—no—"

"No?" He pulled his head back, but didn't step away.

The Doctor was panting slightly, but his expression was angry. "If you expect me to prostitute myself to you, then—"

"What, Doctor?" The Master released the Doctor's hands and took a step back, an eyebrow raised in challenge, noting at the back of his mind that the Doctor swallowed at the loss of physical contact. "What would you do? If I said, 'yes, that's exactly what I want from you,' what would you do? Tell me."

The Doctor glared but remained silent.

The Master lowered his voice until it was almost a growl, and watched with delight as the Doctor suppressed a shiver. "If I told you to get on your knees for me, now, or I'd pilot us back to my remaining laboratory and finish the job, what would you do?"

The Doctor was shaking now, his expression a mixture of anger and disgust and fear. He locked eyes with the Master and slowly dropped to his knees.

"Lovely," the Master murmured, rather surprised. He'd expected more argument.

He pulled off a glove—he'd been sure to include them in his ensemble this time, knowing he'd have the Doctor's company and wanting to look the part for him—and slid his fingers through the blond hair. It was as fine as silk. The Doctor shut his eyes.

The Master crouched down and put a finger beneath the Doctor's chin. The Doctor's eyes opened obediently. "I don't want that," he whispered. The Doctor frowned, and the Master leaned forward and kissed him, softly this time. "I don't want you like that," he repeated. "Does that surprise you?"

"A bit, yes." The Doctor's voice was as soft as his. "How exactly would you like me, then?"

The Master smiled, wrapped his arms around the Doctor and turned, pulling him down to the floor and landing on top of him. He caught the Doctor's wrists again and pinned them by his head. The Doctor blinked up at him, startled, and the Master leaned down to press a kiss to his throat. The Doctor's breath hitched.

"I'd like you as interested as you were two days ago, when I had you up against my TARDIS with your hands behind your back," the Master whispered, and attacked the Doctor's delightfully sensitive neck. The Doctor gasped and then fought, half-heartedly, to free his hands. The Master fought them back down, and the Doctor's eyes fluttered shut, his chest heaving. Oh yes, the Master thought, this regeneration definitely didn't mind it a bit rough.

The Master moved back to the Doctor's mouth and slid a thigh between his legs, moaning as the Doctor gasped and bucked up against him. He was fighting to free his hands again, but this time to participate rather than break away. The Master relented, but let his entire weight press the Doctor down to the floor as he kissed him. The Doctor's fingers scrambled at the fastenings of his velvet jacket and he whispered, "Please..." and the Master rubbed against him again, slowly and smoothly, and the Doctor gave up and clung to him, whimpering, arching his head back and giving a very nice view of his throat: smooth and pale skin shone in the half-light before it disappeared into his rather dishevelled shirt collar.

The Master pulled off his second glove and tossed it away, sitting up briefly. The Doctor made a desperate keening sound as the Master's leg moved, and the Master grabbed the Doctor by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him into a sitting position, straddling his lap and kissing him swiftly.

"Too many clothes," he explained, tugging at the Doctor's coat. The Doctor shed it immediately and then pulled off his cricketing sweater, and the Master, unable to resist, tackled him to the floor again, struggling with the buttons of the Doctor's shirt as he devoted most of his attention to kissing the living daylights out of him. The Doctor's fingers dug into his back, then moved to wrap behind his neck, cup his face, twine in his hair. He kissed back just as fervently, but slid his hips up against the Master's and whispered, "Clothes," when the Master broke the kiss to gasp for breath.

The black velvet coat came off, then the Doctor's braces and shirt, most of its buttons scattering across the floor. The Master's shirt followed, but it took them longer to get their shoes, socks, trousers and pants out of the way: whenever one of them made a serious attempt at it, the other seemed determined to distract him.

In the end, though, neither could say that it hadn't been worth the effort.

* * *

They lay in a rumpled, scattered pile of dark and light clothing, with the Doctor's arms wrapped around the Master's shoulders and a happy smile on his face. In that moment, the entirety of his sleepy, contented mind was focused on the Master, and broadcasting how comfortable he was with the Master in his arms. The Master found he quite appreciated the attention.

Yes, he decided, settling his cheek against the Doctor's chest and listening to his hearts beat, a slight change of his plans had very definitely been in order. And ever so worth it. If his reward for sparing the Universe was this good every time, he just might resolve to spare it more often.

He chuckled.

Not that the Doctor needed to know.


End file.
